


Love Always Wakes the Dragon (and suddenly flames everywhere)

by janvandyne



Series: Thor / Jotun Princess Snapshot Series [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Choking, F/M, Hair-pulling, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Oral Sex, brat prince thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janvandyne/pseuds/janvandyne
Summary: It could be worse. You do have all the luxuries befitting a princess, though one charged with treason. But a gilded cage is still a cage. And the prospect of withering away in this, the tallest tower of the Palace of Asgard, in the same place where your once-betrothed will live and marry and rule from, it’s almost too much to bear.





	

  


_I can tell already you think I’m the dragon,_  
_that would be so like me, but I’m not. I’m not the dragon._  
_I’m not the princess either.  
_

\- Richard Siken _  
_

* * *

After they moved you from the dungeons to your current prison, it stormed for a month. Thunder coupled with rain as you laid out on the balcony, your robe drenched through and clinging to your body, the cool showers stroking your skin like a lover’s caress.

It was a cruel punishment. A constant reminder of what you lost.

A year has passed and you are near to accepting your fate. The days go by, one fading into the next. Breakfast, lunch, dinner brought to you by Borghild, your guard. Brunch, afternoon tea, or supper as well if you so desired it. Astrid, your attendant, would visit at your request or come calling with news or gossip or a gift at times – a new book or game or trinket. You often wondered if these offerings were indeed from her or surreptitious gifts from Thor, but you bid yourself to remove that idea from your thoughts.

Thor had not come to visit, had not written, had not acknowledged you were still alive since he sentenced you to eternity in this cell. And why would he? He believes you betrayed him, opened a secret gateway to Jotunheimr and welcomed your kin into Asgard to steal the Casket of Ancient Winters.  

You had not, but neither can you prove your innocence. You’ve been cursed, your tongue enchanted so you were unable to speak the truth. Betrayed by your kin, and cast away by Thor, without friend or confidant, you were absolutely alone.

It could be worse. You do have all the luxuries befitting a princess, though one charged with treason. But a gilded cage is still a cage. And the prospect of withering away in this, the tallest tower of the Palace of Asgard, in the same place where your once-betrothed will live and marry and rule from, it’s almost too much to bear.

So you keep your thoughts on other things, occupy yourself by any means. You read fairytale books and scholarly tomes. You survey the stars from the balcony by night. You keep your finger and toenails painted in a shiny black lacquer. You take long baths with scented oils. You balm your skin, comb your hair.

You look at yourself in the vanity mirror. You feel bare without your jewels, your gold. Ever since you can remember, you’ve had precious gems woven into your hair, golden chains decorating your body. They’ve all been taken away.

You’ve been allowed to keep your robe, though. You’ve been granted that kindness. It’s the only thing you can bear to wear in the heat high up in the tower, so close to the Asgardian sun. It’s a shimmering silver chiffon, sheer and silky smooth. You tie it loose around your waist, opened wide at your chest. Still, the room is too warm. It leaves you tired and weak. How you long for the enchanted ice that Thor had gifted you with…

You hear the lock to your door click, then the door to your chambers open, and Borghild’s heavy footsteps enter your room. You don’t bother to look up from where you are, tending to the split ends of your hair with a comb. You are of a mood and unwilling to deal with your guard’s solemn and surly presence.

“Borghild,” you call, “unless you’ve brought Astrid, I haven’t the desire for company today.”

She doesn’t answer, but neither does she leave. After a moment, you sigh and roll your eyes, calling her name once more as you look at her in the mirror’s reflection. You startle at the image and turn with haste.

“Thor?” you gasp.

He takes a few steps toward you, closing the door behind him. “How fare you, princess?” he asks, the words resonating through your room.

You want to weep at the sound of his voice, nothing has ever sounded so divine. You’ve only been in the company of Borghild and Astrid in the last year, but your thoughts never stray too far from Thor, no matter how deep the hurt residing in your heart. And now, to have him in your cell, so sudden, you can hardly bear it.

You turn from him lest he see your face, the pained expression that you know can’t be hidden. You catch the reflection in the mirror of your red eyes shining with unshed tears and look down, watching as your fingers fiddle with the comb in your hands.

“You think me a princess still, Thor?” you ask. “Surely there must be another title for one disgraced as I?”

You can hear him walk closer, but you still can’t look at him. His presence is already so overwhelming, just him being so near is stifling. But this is who he is. He draws attention, commands the room. And you, one who had once done the same, shrink away into yourself.

“What shall I call you by?” he asks.

“Laufeysdottir, perhaps?” you reply. “By my name, not a lost title.”

You do look at him when you say that, daring him to respond with anything akin to anger. He doesn’t respond, though, just grits his teeth, clenches his jaw, and you’re actually surprised at his restraint.

“Is there a reason for your call?” you continue.

He clears his throat, raises his chin a little, then he says, “My coronation is in a fortnight. The festivities begin tomorrow eve.”

You turn sideways in your chair to face him straight on, one arm draped across the back of the seat, the other laid gracefully across your lap. You cock your head and give him a bitter smile. “And you come to extend a personal invitation?” you ask.

“I come to inform you, as your new king.”

“Well,” you reply, “consider me well informed, your grace.”

You turn back to the mirror, a clear dismissal. You move your hair from one shoulder to the other, hand tracing the curve of your neck as you do. You pick the comb up from the vanity and run it through your hair, still irritated about your split ends.

“Will you not look at me?” Thor asks, and it is clear by his tone that he is growing angry. “Will you not give me that, after all you have done?”

You slam your comb down on the vanity and turn your head to look at him, angry as well. “Is that truly why you come now? To remind me of my supposed crimes? I have pled my innocence to you time and time over, Thor-king. I grow weary of it. When the All-Father awakes from his sleep, his words will speak my truth and then you will know how foolish you have been!”

He lunges towards you with a few long strides and grabs a handful of your hair close to the scalp. He’s too swift for you to counter and you gasp in surprise before he grabs your jaw in his other hand. His eyes bore into yours, a wild storm raging in the blue depths.

“I had a mind to love you once,” he growls. “Before I knew the true extent of your cold, bitter heart.”

Your hands are gripping his forearm, nails like talons digging into his golden flesh. You hiss, “Grown only colder, oh king, since I’ve been locked away and forgotten! And I await the day that it freezes further still, hardens until it ceases to beat, then I will be free of this retched place!”

He pulls you out of your seat by your hair, kicks the chair out of the way, and presses your back to his front, the both of you facing the vanity mirror. His hand moves from your hair to your throat, the other sliding behind your elbows, pinning your arms behind your back.

You struggle against his hold but he’s too strong, and your will too weak. He lets you fight, wearing yourself out even more while he barely moves an inch. Finally, you collapse against his body, conceding defeat.

Your robe has been pulled from one of your sapphire-blue shoulders, exposing your breast. Your chest is heaving, cheeks flushed a deep indigo. Your hair is wild, mussed up in the fray. And Thor is staring at you, eyes fierce as storm clouds. He noses at your hair, right above your ear, once a loving gesture but now something more threatening.

“You think I had forgotten you?” he asks your reflection, lips against your hair, eyes on yours. “That I have not thought of you every second of every day?”

“Thor, please –“ you whimper, trying to turn from the mirror.

“Look at yourself,” he says, tightening his grip on your throat. “Look at _us_. You are _mine_. Given to me by both my father and your own. _The greatest gift the Nine Realms has to offer_ , or do you not remember? Asgard can freeze into a wasteland from the chill of your heart and even then you would still be mine.”

He frees your arms and wraps his around your waist, pressing you hard against his body. You can feel his half hard cock against your ass, the pounding of his heart against your back. You lash out against him, but still you cannot free yourself from his grasp. But your hands are unrestrained, and you reach up and grab him by his hair, your other hand catching him by the wrist connected to the hand around your throat.

The two of you are a tangle of limbs, wrapped around one another. Your teeth are bared, red eyes glowing. Thor’s cheeks are flushed pink, his nostrils flaring. You’re not foolish enough not to fear Thor’s wrath, but you’re also too proud to stay silent.

“I am no one’s to give!” you say. “I am the one who chose _you._ You came to Jotunheimr ready for war and at my behest you were not met likewise. I am the one who brokered the alliance between Jotunheimr and Asgard. I am the one that set Laufey-king to the task of convincing the All-Father to marry the Golden Prince to me. I chose you and I had you and if I am yours then you, Thor-king, are mine as well!”

At the expense of a handful of his hair, he yanks his head away from your fingers and spins you in his arms. He picks you up and throws you on the vanity, your back rattling the mirror behind you. He crowds his body into yours, settling between your spread thighs. He palms your cheeks, staring as if he’s searching for something in your gaze.

You hold on to his wrists, but you don’t push him away. You stare back, unsure, and suddenly he surges forward, kissing you hard. You gasp in surprise and try to turn your head, but he doesn’t relent. You bite down on his bottom lip and only then does he pull away.

“Tell me again that I am yours,” he says, and you almost feel as though he’s begging, if the mighty Thor has ever begged for anything in his life. When you don’t reply, he whispers, “Tell me, princess.”

He slides the robe off of your other shoulder, baring your breasts to him. He holds on to your waist, leans in to kiss the curve of your neck. His lips are so hot against your skin that you melt in his hands.

“You are mine,” you moan. “You’re mine, Thor. You will belong to no one as you do to me. And I to you.”

His sighs in response, satisfied. His mouth moves down your body, lips pressing against your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. He goes even lower, flicks his tongue against the sensitive skin below your navel and you shiver in response.

He sinks down to his knees and kisses your inner thigh. He bites down on the supple flesh, not too hard but enough to leave his mark. His beard is like velvet against your skin, sliding softly across your thigh as his lips move ever closer to where you so desire him to be.

You lean back, cool mirror against your bare skin. Thor grabs you beneath your knees and spreads your legs, lifting them until you can perch the arch of your feet on the edge of the vanity. His face is level with your cunt and his eyes leave yours to admire how wet and wanton you already are.

You watch, enraptured, as Thor licks a long, wet path from your cunt up to your clit. Your mouth falls open, but you’re silent, the only sounds in the room are your harsh breaths, the beating of your heart.

He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking, and this time you do cry out. The pressure is almost overwhelming, his tongue hot and relentless against you. He does not ease into it, does not start out steady and slow, but acts as if he wants to devour you, ravage you with his mouth and tongue.

The noises that he makes are obscene. He pants, he groans, he growls, the sounds travelling through your body. You shiver, your legs shaking, and Thor has to steady them with his palms on the back of your thighs.

He uses his thumbs to spread your outer lips, and he slides his tongue inside of you. He fucks you with the stiff tip for a moment, then replace it with his finger, sliding the thick digit into your wet pussy, slow and deep.

You want to put your hands in his hair, feel the golden strands that once you used to braid. You don’t though, you keep them firm against the vanity, holding up your weak and trembling body lest you fall.

Thor adds another finger and crooks them both, massaging that sweet and soft spot inside of you. You moan out in pleasure as he licks your clit, the flat of his tongue bringing your closer and closer to the edge.

“Please, Thor, please,” you beg, not even knowing what for, and his fingertips move faster, tongue pressing against you even firmer.

Your orgasm hits you hard and Thor drags it out, sucking your clit as he fucks you with his fingers. It’s almost too much, these dual pleasures. Too much, but you would expect nothing less from him.

His face is pressed hard against your cunt, smearing slick across his lips and chin and beard. It makes for a stunning image, the to-be-king of the Nine Realms on his knees beneath you, working you through your pleasure with his mouth and fingers. It’s almost enough to keep you on your high forever.

But you do come down eventually, and Thor moves back up your body, lips and beard leaving a wet trail across your skin. He places open mouthed kisses against your cool flesh, bites your nipple, keeps moving upward. He attacks your throat with his teeth, sucking, nipping the skin, and not doubt leaving ink-blot purple bruises that will haunt you for days to come.

He holds your face in his hands and this time when he kisses your lips, you kiss him back. You can taste yourself on his tongue, smell your scent on his fingers. You love it, your mark on him, even if it‘s just for a little while.

“Take me to bed, Thor,” you say when he pulls back.

“As you wish,” he replies, scooping you up into his arms, holding you close to his warm body as he walks you to your bed.

He lays you down on the soft fur blanket and you incline back on the pillows. Thor stands at the side of the bed, still fully clothed and looking down at your naked form. You turn to your side and stretch your body out to emphasize the curve of your waist, thighs wet where they’re resting against one another.

“Are you not to join me, your grace?” you ask, resting your cheek in your palm.

You can see the hesitation flash across his face, the struggle between duty and desire. He scrubs his hand over his mouth, still glistening with your slick. Your chest suddenly tightens; your breath catches in your throat. You’re afraid that he will leave, that he will never come back.

“Thor?” you say, but he doesn’t answer, so you rise up to your hands and knees and crawl across the bed to him. When you get to him, you sit back on your heels and pull him closer by his tunic. You fist the soft fabric in your hands, refusing to let him go. “Thor. My king. My love. Do not spurn me now.”

He places his hand on your cheek and you turn, kissing his palm. You look up at him, trying to show the reverence you have for him in your eyes. He may have turned against you, locked you away, but you had loved him. You still do.

“Let me touch you, Thor,” you whisper to him. “Let me _taste_ you.”

You spread your legs and arch your back, your hands moving down his hard body until you get to the laces on his breeches. You unknot the laces, slowly, pulling them loose from their grommets until you can slide the pants off Thor’s hips, pulling them down his thighs so that you may free his cock.

You gasp at the sight, wondering at how only a year has made his body so unknown to you. The familiar intimacy between the two of you has been lost, and it is as if you’re looking at him anew, every inch of him another thing to explore.

You reach out to touch him, taking his dick in your hand. It’s hot and hard and thick, so thick that your fingers can’t even wrap around its full girth. You lap at the head of his cock, gathering precome on your tongue. You lick up the underside of his shaft, getting it wet enough so that you can stroke it with your palm.

You can only get the head of his cock in your mouth, but that seems to be enough for Thor, because you hear him groan above you, low and deep. When you look up at him, his eyes are closed, head tilted back. His chest is puffed out like he’s holding his breath, pink lips slack and parted.

You slide your hand up the length of his cock, spit and precome slicking his shaft. When your fingers meet your mouth at the head of his dick, you twist your wrist and Thor _moans_. The sound flows through you, making your clit pulse, your pussy throb. You moan back in response, mouth still around his dick, causing him to look down at you, into your eyes.

“Princess,” he whispers, his huge palm coming to rest on the back of your head, fingers tangling into your soft tresses.

He pulls your hair, dragging you off of his cock and tossing you back on the bed. He quickly removes his shirt, his boots, his breeches. He grabs one of your pillows and puts it beneath you, the silk soft against your ass. And then he’s on you, body draped over yours. He doesn’t burden you with all of his weight, but settles his hips between your thighs, holds himself up with his hands.

Thor thrusts his hips, gliding his cock against your wet, hard clit with the barest amount of friction. You moan and writhe, aching, ready for him to be inside of you. Finally, when he takes mercy on your desperation, he takes his dick in his hand and lines it up with your cunt, blunt cockhead against your waiting entrance.

He watches you as he pushes in, eyes locked on yours. You try to keep the contact but he’s so big, stretching you so full, a most cataclysmic combination of pain and pleasure. You have to arch your body to take it, head thrown back, eyes closed.

Thor grabs your jaw in his hand and tilts your head forward again, forcing you to look upon his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, blue eyes glowing, and when he’s buried all the way inside of you, he lets a shuddering breath pass his parted lips.

He leans down, pressing his hard, hot body against yours. He moves his hips, sliding out of you, pushes into you again. He starts off slow, a heavy and unhurried drag against your tight inner walls. You can feel every inch of his glorious length, the burning stretch of his girth. You don’t ever remember feeling this full, even before.

His powerful body starts moving faster between your legs, the snap of his hips speeding up. The pillow beneath your ass is tilting your hips at the perfect angle, allowing Thor to thrust into you deep and effortlessly.

He growls and you moan, the only sounds in the room aside from the slap of sweat-slick skin against skin. You can feel your pleasure building, that delicious heat growing in the pit of your stomach. You roll your hips up to meet his thrusts, grinding your clit against his pelvis in the process.  

Thor presses his forehead against yours, lips brushing against your lips. You two are breathing the same air, moaning into each other’s mouths.

You hear a thunderclap, then the room darkens. Raindrops start falling on the balcony, a cool breeze flowing in through the open door, chilling the sweat on your skin. It feels divine, magnificent. Everything does. From the cool chill surrounding you to Thor’s hard body between your legs, his thick cock inside of you.

You almost forget. You almost forget that –

And in your forgetting, you remember.

The bitter salt of tears sting your eyes. You have to shut them so Thor cannot see. You wrap your arms around his back, holding him close. You can feel the flex of his muscles under your palms and you dig your nails into his golden flesh.

He has buried himself inside of you, not thrusting but _grinding_. His cock fills you up, his pelvis rubs against your clit. He’s breathing heavy in the curve of your neck, moaning, growling.

“Princess, my princess,” he sighs.

“Thor, my king,” you whimper in turn, heavy-hearted.

You don’t pursue your orgasm but it comes anyway. Thor forces it from you, knowing your body so well. It builds and builds until you feel ready to explode, that wonderful but now unwelcome pleasure coursing through you, causing you to cry out.

Your hips move of their own accord, rolling against him. Thor must find pleasure in this because he starts thrusting again, a brutal pace. He rises to his knees and takes your hips in his hands, pulling you forward as he buries himself into you.

His spine goes straight, body stiffening. He throws his head back and roars, golden mane flowing wild around him. You can feel him filling you up, his hot come stuffing you full. You bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out again, but Thor does not do the same.

He breathes hard and heavy as he comes down from his high, chest heaving, his stomach muscles flexing. He looks regal, godly, just as you remember.

Thor falls down beside you, wraps his arms around your body from behind. He nuzzles his nose in the hollow behind your ear, but says nothing. He just keeps you close, pressed against him, his warmth surrounding you.

“I was to be your queen,” you say, barely a whisper. “Don’t forget me, Thor, up here alone in this tower, when you find another.”

He’s silent for a moment, the air in the room growing stagnant, but then he says, “Sleep,” not answering you, but replying all the same. “Sleep well, princess, and rid your mind of such thoughts.”

* * *

You manage to sleep and when you wake, it’s dark outside. Thor is gone, as you knew he would be, and you have to convince yourself that it was not all a dream.

You rise from the bed, taking your coverlet with you. You wrap yourself in it, letting it trail behind your body like a cape as you make your way to the balcony. What you see out there makes you gasp in surprise.

“Loki?”

“Excuse the intrusion,” he says, turning around to face you. “But I am here to offer my services.”


End file.
